


the weather outside is frightful

by blvkebellamy



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bellarke January Joy 2020, Clarke is a hot mess, Day: 22, F/M, Memori - Freeform, Snowball Fight, and i know its the 23rd but i was having issues :P, artist!Clarke, bellamy wants to take care of her, demon!bellamy, emori and murphy and grade A friends, supernatural!bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22376296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blvkebellamy/pseuds/blvkebellamy
Summary: "Slowly, like a cliché horror movie, her fridge door opened. Inside it, a lone granola bar sat on the top shelf. Clarke never buys granola bars, and her fridge definitely only had expired mac and cheese the last time she checked.Figuring she had nothing to lose, Clarke creeped over to the fridge. She lightly tapped the granola bar, waiting for it to do something crazy, like eat her hand. It didn’t. It was still a granola bar.It was also still sealed, which was comforting. She closed the fridge with her hip, turning the granola bar in her hand.Apparently, she took too long, because the voice sounded again. “Eat it.”Clarke furrowed her brow, glancing around.“Please,” the voice added, begrudgingly."Or, Clarke's a hot mess, and Bellamy is the demon that takes care of her.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Emori/John Murphy (The 100)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 249





	the weather outside is frightful

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. i made this. i hope u enjoy. BIG thank u to Essie aka pawprinterfanfic. she made this happen and i love her.

Clarke sighed as she put her paintbrush down, looking at her painting with dry eyes. After thirteen hours, it was finally finished. All the colours looked the same and Clarke was pretty sure she couldn’t tell the difference between light and dark. That didn’t matter, though. It was _done._

Clarke took a step back, knocking about empty bottles around her floor. Slowly, she stretched out her aching back, groaning slightly at the pops and cracks it made. 

She was never taking another commission ever again. The only reason she took this one was because it was a favour for a friend of a friend, and she owed this guy. It was a big piece, with eastern dragons swirling all over the canvas, broken up by clouds, houses and other aspects of nature. Normally, Clarke would have had it done earlier, but she was swamped with deadlines from her comic.

She wanted to stand there and look at it–-maybe find some mistakes and fix them up–-but a quick glance at her watch told her it was four in the morning and she really needed to sleep before she started to worry about all her friends hating her. Scrubbing at her face, she flopped onto her bed, the springs creaking with her weight.

She immediately felt sleep tugging at her, pulling from all sides to sink into the soft dark. Just as she was about to finally switch off, she heard a _thunk,_ as if her painting had fallen _._ There was no wet squelch accompanying it, though, so she assumed it wasn’t face first.

“If a fucking ghost just knocked down my painting I swear to god I will personally fuck you up,” Clarke grumbled, the venom of a sleep-deprived artist lacing her voice. She debated on whether or not she should get up, just to check if it was alright. In the end, she settled with lifting her head up, squinting in the darkness to see. The painting was upright, but not as she left it. 

“Thanks, I guess?” Clarke said into the darkness, turning over to sleep.

She closed her eyes again, ready to knock out, when she heard her paintbrushes slowly roll off her table and drop to the floor, one by one.

Clarke sighed heavily, turning to flop onto her back. “Listen, if there’s a ghost can I deal with your shit tomorrow? I’m really fucking tired right now.”

The rolling stopped. Clarke could’ve sworn she heard something say sorry, but she fell asleep before she could think about it.

***

Clarke woke up, groggy and delirious, thinking last night was just a fever dream. Absentmindedly, she pats at her forehead. No fever.

Whatever.

A shrill ringing from her phone cut through her thoughts, stealing Clarke’s attention. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand, not even glancing at the caller ID before grunting out a barely intelligible, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Murphy said from down the line, bored but at the same time slightly concerned, “are you still alive?”

Clarke paused. “I am breathing.”

“Good enough,” Murphy replied, and Clarke was so glad he had low standards. “Me and Emori are hanging later–-wanna come?”

Clarke grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “And watch you guys make out the entire time?”

“Not the entire time,” Murphy reassured her, “snack breaks.”

Clarke barked out a laugh, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks but no thanks. I have to get this commission out anyways.”

Murphy hums in acknowledgement. “Don’t die.”

“I probably won’t.”

With that, she hung up, tossing her phone to the side. She got up slowly, lamenting the fact that it was before ten in the morning and she had to be out of the house in about an hour to send her painting to the post office. She trudged over to her bathroom, brushing her teeth briskly and splashing a little bit of water on her face so she would look a little bit more put together.

She took her painting and wrapped it up in a generous layer of bubble wrap before sliding it into a box to keep it safe. After taping it shut, she nodded to herself, proud of her handy work. 

She slipped on her coat, shoving her feet roughly into some boots. Grabbing the painting, she half-jogged to her door, pushing down on the handle and pulling on it.

The door stayed shut.

“What the fuck?” Clarke whispered.

She tried it again. Still shut.

She checked the handle, feeling the lock. It was unlocked. Clarke blinked, making sure her brain wasn’t playing tricks on her.

“If this is the ghost, please let me out. I really need this money,” Clarke said, more to herself than anything, really.

Out of nowhere but seemingly everywhere at once, a voice answered.

“Eat something.”

Clarke whipped around, holding her painting in front of herself as some sort of protection. “Who’s there?”

Echoing silence answered her call. She tried the handle again. Still locked.

Slowly, like a cliché horror movie, her fridge door opened. Inside it, a lone granola bar sat on the top shelf. Clarke never buys granola bars, and her fridge _definitely_ only had expired mac and cheese the last time she checked.

Figuring she had nothing to lose, Clarke crept over to the fridge. She lightly tapped the granola bar, waiting for it to do something crazy, like eat her hand. It didn’t. It was still a granola bar.

It was also still sealed, which was comforting. She closed the fridge with her hip, turning the granola bar in her hand.

Apparently, she took too long, because the voice sounded again. “Eat it.” 

Clarke furrowed her brow, glancing around.

“Please,” the voice added, begrudgingly.

 _The granola bar could be poisoned,_ Clarke thought. _Then again, it could’ve killed me before. Why now?_ Deciding it was safe, Clarke opened it up and ate it in three quick bites.

“Next time,” Clarke said, voice muffled with her chewing, “if you’re gonna make me eat a granola bar, at least take the ones with the chocolate bits.”

She gets no response in return, but this time when she tries the handle, the door opens.

***

Clarke goes to Murphy straight after the post office, because _duh._ She doesn’t bother knocking, instead barging in with her eyes shut tight.

“Are you decent?” She calls out, stopping in the living room where she knows he’ll be.

She hears Murphy sigh, long and defeated. “Kind of in the middle of something here.”

No screaming, so Clarke judges it safe to open her eyes. She sees Murphy lounging on the sofa with Emori in his lap, hands under his shirt. “Hey Emori.”

Emori mock salutes back. “Hey Clarke.”

“I think I’m being haunted by a ghost,” Clarke said, getting the words out before she forgets or decides not to say them.

“Clarke–-”

“Wait, babe, hang on,” Emori interrupted. She turned to Clarke, a solemn expression set on her face. “Is it a nice ghost or a ‘fuck-you’ kind of ghost?”

“It’s weird. The ghost wouldn't let me leave my house until I ate a granola bar, so, like, chaotic good?”

Emori and Murphy stared at her in silence, communicating with each other using only head shakes and eyebrow movements.

Clarke ran a hand through her hair, tugging on the ends. “I know ghosts aren’t real but-–”

“No, no, ghosts are definitely real,” Emori said, cutting Clarke off, “we’re just trying to figure out its motives.”

Murphy tilted his head to the side. “Maybe it’s a mom ghost?”

“I don’t think so. It had more ‘Exasperated RA’ vibes.”

Murphy nodded, visibly absorbing this information. He looked back at Emori. “Are we gonna keep making out?”

“Later; this takes priority.”

Murphy seemed to expect this, nodding in a resigned yet affectionate way. “So, Clarke, is the ghost hot?”

Clarke levelled him with a look. “I’m not fucking the ghost.”

“I’m just saying,” Murphy grinned.

“Okay, so what should I do? Call an exorcist?”

Emori immediately shook her head. “Don’t. Right now he’s not a dick. Let’s not provoke him.”

Clarke was about to counter with the fact that there was a _fucking ghost in her house,_ but she stopped herself. Emori was right. It wasn’t exactly _bothering_ Clarke and it _did_ feed her. Maybe a ghost in her apartment wouldn’t be such a bad thing. With that decided, she flopped down on the couch parallel to Murphy and Emori.

“Wanna watch British Bake-off?”

Murphy lit up, beaming. “Oh, _fuck_ yeah!”

***

Clarke stumbled into her apartment, the lights automatically turning on. The lights were manually powered, so she assumed the ghost did it. She mumbled a thanks and pulled out her Cintiq, a gift from her mother after a particularly bad fight. Getting comfortable on her bed, she pulls up Photoshop, sketching out some panels for her comic.

Just as she was refining the lines, the voice spoke up.

“Did you eat anything yet?” It asked, a little timid as if it was unsure whether or not it was welcome.

Clarke startled at the sudden noise, stylus flying out of her hand. She quickly calmed herself, deciding to answer as if this was a normal occurrence, as to not scare it away. “Not yet.”

“You need to eat,” it grunted, sounding more frustrated with each word.

Clarke was about to answer, but she paused. She looked around, trying to find the best place to direct her response. “Hey, uh, is there some way you can be visible? Talking to the air makes me feel sorta… crazy.”

The voice went silent, not saying anything for long enough that Clarke was afraid she’d offended it. She bit her lip anxiously, opening her mouth to say something—apologise, maybe—but before she could make a sound, a _pop_ sounded.

“Hi,” the voice said, now clearly from behind her.

Clarke whipped around, wanting to get a look in case he disappeared and _oh shit._

 _The ghost_ was _hot._

He had deep bronze skin, freckles adorning every inch of it, inky black curls sitting atop his head. His chest was broad and solid, and Clarke was pretty sure he had abs. It was a feeling. He was wearing a white wool sweater that looked incredibly soft with dark jeans that complemented it nicely. He held himself awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do with his body.

Clarke struggled to find words to say, realised she was staring, then struggled even more. _Just say something!_ She thought _._

“You’re shorter than I thought you would be,” Clarke choked out.

_Not that!_

Clarke felt her face heat up from mortification, seriously contemplating how mad Murphy would be if she suffocated herself with her pillow. 

The voice–-man?-–laughed pleasantly, rich and warm. “I’m pretty sure I’m taller than you,” he replied, a small smirk on his face.

“By, like, two inches. Once I get my heels it’s all over for you.”

The voice-man grinned, shaking his head. “I’m Bellamy,” he said, offering his hand to shake.

Clarke hastily got up, taking his hand in hers. “Clarke. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

He was actually more than two inches taller than her. More like five, if she was being honest. His hand was incredibly cold, almost like ice. Clarke didn’t mind, though. It was soothing, in a way.

Bellamy took his hand back and looked around awkwardly. “So, uh, have you eaten yet?” He asked, running a hand nervously through his hair.

Clarke shrugged. “Not really.”

Bellamy looked at her, confused. “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

“Well, I had a big lunch and I was gonna eat breakfast tomorrow–”

“You’re human,” Bellamy said, in a tone that Clarke mostly heard right before she did something stupid, “you need to eat. Your stomach gets weird if you don’t.”

“It doesn’t get weird all the time.”

“You could _die._ ”

“That’s pretty extreme, don’t you think?” Clarke said, flopping down on her bed. “Also, how do you know I’m human? I could be a lizard man, for all you know.”

Bellamy sat down next to her, his body a solid weight against her side. “You’re not a lizard man,” he deadpanned, leaning back on his hand, “they have more teeth than you do.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “Wait, lizardmen are real?” There was a ghost-man in her apartment. Lizardmen can’t be too far off.

Bellamy’s face remained unchanged, but Clarke saw a small twitch in his lips which easily broke out into a smile, his nose scrunching slightly. “Nah, I’m just messing with you.”

Clarke hit him with her pillow, laughing in embarrassment and relief. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bellamy didn't deny it, instead shoving the pillow she hit him with behind his head.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Clarke continuing to draw on her tablet with her fingers since her stylus was across the room and Bellamy watching her contentedly. “So, can I ask you something?” Clarke said, saving her work.

“You’re gonna ask what I am, right?” 

Clarke tilted her head. “Can you read minds or something?”

Bellamy snorted. “Or something.” He turned to face at her, clearly thinking. His lips pinched together and his eyes had a faraway look. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Clarke reassured. The last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable. Doing that just didn’t sit right with her.

“No, I don’t mind,” Bellamy said, waving his hand, “it’s just that I’m not really sure what I am in your terms.” He furrowed his brow, sitting up a bit. “I guess the closest thing is a demon? Except I’m not from hell and I don’t have horns.”

Clarke hummed, thinking back to all the bad horror films Emori made her watch. Although, if anything, this was more of a lighthearted comedy. “Maybe you’re a ghost. Or a poltergeist,” Clarke added. Those made the most sense to her.

Bellamy pursed his lips, mulling it over. “No, I can’t be; I’ve never been human.”

Clarke nodded, wondering if she could call Murphy and ask if he had any books on this. He was surprisingly into the supernatural, which was convenient at best and terrifying at worst. 

“What about a–-what the fuck, _where is your arm_?” Clarke sputtered. She peered closer. All she could see was his shoulder, which had gone fuzzy at the edges.

Bellamy just gave her an apologetic face. “One second.” 

Clarke watched in both disgust and fascination as his arm slowly materialised back in her room. It looked like it was dissolving into existence, piece by piece. When his hand came back, she noticed that it had something in it.

Bellamy tossed it at her and only her fear of getting hit in the face allowed her to catch it.

“A granola bar?”

Bellamy huffed. “Turn it over.”

Clarke felt her face lit up. “Chocolate bits!” Clarke tore into the wrapping, biting off a big chunk. Bellamy laughed at her haste, but it was cut short. He looked as if he’d been called by someone only he could hear. After about a minute of blank staring, he blinked rapidly, turning back to Clarke.

“I have to go,” he said, getting up off of Clarke’s bed.

Clarke struggled to swallow the granola bar in her mouth, wincing as it went down. “Something bad happen?”

Bellamy gave her a small reassuring smile. “No, but I should still go.”

“Okay. See you later?”

Bellamy’s eyes widened, his face slightly confused. “You want to see me again?” He asked, voice small.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

Bellamy slowly nodded, his features smoothing out and giving way for a grin. “Yeah, uh, see you later.” He gave Clarke a quick wave and with a resounding _pop,_ he was gone.

Clarke sat there, staring at the place he once was. 

The voice was a guy named Bellamy. Bellamy was super cute. He also gave her granola bars with chocolate bits.

Clarke might have a tiny crush.

Upon realizing this, she immediately whipped her phone out. Emori and Murphy needed to know.

**To: CÖMRÃDË**

**Me:**

_Guys the ghost is hot_

**EMOri:**

_i fuckin knew it._

_If u dont fuck him i will_

**Murp:**

_what abt me?_

**EMOri:**

_u can join_

**Murp:**

_sick_

_clarke if the ghost turns out to be a fick hmu and ill call raven on his ass_

_dick*_

**Me:**

_Thanks guys_

_Whats raven gonna do?_

**Murp:**

_u dont wanna know_

That was a fair bet. Raven was terrifying.

Now, with nothing to do, Clarke pulled out her Cintiq again, getting up only to go get her stylus and a large bottle of water. She opened up a comic page, quickly storyboarding the scene before delving into the sketch layer.

Clarke worked tirelessly, quickly losing herself in her work. This was probably one of the best parts of her life. She loved her job as a comic artist, and she loved that she was able to live quite comfortably _and_ do something that wasn’t soul-sucking. Even though she was mostly self-employed, she still had deadlines and schedules she needed to follow. The chapter she was working on now needed to be out by next weekend and she wasn’t even halfway done. Clarke would normally start to feel worried but she’s squeezed through tighter timeframes than this.

Clarke was so engrossed in her work that when she heard a distant pop she automatically ignored it. It was probably the neighbours.

“You’re still awake?”

“Holy fuck, warn a girl!” Clarke yelled, jostling her Cintiq. Bellamy glanced at the clock above her bed, noting the time. Clarke turned to look as well since she had no idea what time it was. 

Whatever. Time is fake anyway.

“Clarke, it’s two-thirty in the morning,” Bellamy chided gently, taking her stylus from her, “you need to sleep.”

“Wait, wait, wait, just let me finish this panel; I’m in the groove right now,” Clarke demanded, making grabby hands for her stylus.

Bellamy glanced over her shoulder at her Cintiq. On it, displayed in all its glory, is a highly detailed and unsettling frowny face.

Clarke shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.”

“I like it,” Bellamy decided, saving her work and unplugging the Cintiq, “but the panel’s not going anywhere. You can finish it in the morning.”

“I won’t be in the groove then!” Clarke claimed, trying to reach past Bellamy for her tablet. Bellamy just plopped it down on her table and turned to face her.

He was a lot closer than she expected. She could feel how cold he was, his body practically stripping her heat from her. With his face this close she could count his freckles. Or lean in to kiss him.

That thought sent her falling back into her bed. _Let’s not go there._

With Clarke lying down, Bellamy took it as a chance to tuck her in. He gently arranged her pillows around her, creating a sort of cocoon. Then, to finish it all off, he covered her with a blanket, playfully submerging her head in it as well.

“I feel like a pie filling,” Clarke said, her voice muffled by her duvet. Bellamy folded the blanket just enough for her head to poke through, saying something about ventilation as he went about putting her stuff away.

Once he was done, he sat beside her.

“Are you gonna watch me sleep?” Clarke asked, reaching a hand out to poke lightly at his chest.

“No,” Bellamy said, adjusting the edges of her blanket, “I was actually going to sleep myself.”

“You can sleep?”

Bellamy frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. Clarke really wanted to smooth it out. “Sort of. It’s not really like how you sleep. I'm still aware of my surroundings but things are less… intrusive, I guess.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

Bellamy smiled at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Night, Bell.”

Bellamy pushed her hair back from her face, icy fingers leaving a cool trace. “Night, Clarke.”

Clarke closed her eyes, curling up into a more comfortable position. She heard Bellamy get up, but there was no telltale pop of him leaving.

Instead, she felt a quick press of his lips against her temple. The moment she registered the feeling of them, he was gone, popped back into nothingness.

***

Clarke woke up feeling well-rested and giddy. A quick glance at her clock told her it was nine AM, surprisingly early for her. She got up out of her bed (her cocoon unfortunately destroyed) and went to the bathroom to shower.

After her shower and as she’s brushing her teeth, she heard Bellamy pop into existence. She rinsed her mouth quickly, walking back to her living room. 

“Where do you go when you’re not here?” Clarke immediately asked upon seeing him.

“Good morning to you too,” Bellamy snarked back, moving to Clarke’s kitchen. He placed a bunch of groceries on her table, all in tote bags. 

Because Clarke was mature, she stuck her tongue out at him and hopped up onto the table. “Morning. So–-where do you go?”

Bellamy stopped for a second, looking as if he was gathering the right words. “The universe has these layers, I guess, and it’s a bit like a pocket. Normally, I stay in the pocket. I can also move through that pocket and end up somewhere else. That's why my hand disappears.”

Clarke made an _‘ah’_ sound of understanding, as if her entire world didn’t just get flipped upside down. She needed to tell Murphy soon. He'll flip his shit.

Clarke inspected the groceries, getting increasingly worried when she saw that nothing was microwaveable or instant. “You know I can’t cook, right? All of this is gonna go to waste.”

Bellamy doesn’t pause in his act of unloading the groceries. “I can cook.”

Clarke snagged a grape from him. “Are you any good?”

Bellamy didn't even deign that with a response, instead just raising an eyebrow at her.

Clarke threw a grape at him, not even surprised when he easily caught it in his mouth, because of _course_ he can.

Bellamy started to rummage through her cabinets, taking out a wok she didn’t even know she had and setting it on her stove. He started to add things that Clarke didn’t recognise, probably because she doesn’t stray further than the frozen section. In minutes, her apartment started to smell heavenly.

Clarke hopped off the table, moving to stand beside Bellamy.

“What are you making?”

“Uh, no idea. I saw it once, though. People seem to like it.”

Bellamy took a bit on the wooden spoon he was using to cook it with. Clarke had no idea where he got a wooden spoon. She owned maybe two spoons on a good day and none of them were wooden. 

Bellamy held it up to his mouth, gently blowing on it to cool it down, one hand hovering underneath to catch anything that might spill. After he deemed it cool enough, he held it out to Clarke.

She hesitantly took a bite. Her eyes widened as the taste reached her tongue. Humming appreciatively, she smiled at Bellamy, giving him a thumbs up. The stir fry was savoury and deep, a hint of citrus cutting through the flavour and complementing the dark richness of it.

“Good?” Bellamy asked, smiling warmly at her reaction.

“So good,” Clarke said, nodding and taking a fork to pinch more of it from the pot.

Bellamy laughed, warm and delighted.

“You have something,” Bellamy said, gesturing to the corner of his mouth. Clarke swiped at her face.

“Did I get it?”

“You’re sort of smearing it,” Bellamy chuckles, reaching out and cupping Clarke’s face in one hand. Clarke felt a chill run down her spine at his cold touch, but she didn’t show it. Bellamy stepped closer, gently taking a towel and wiping at her face.

“There,” Bellamy said, suddenly soft. Clarke looked down at his lips, noticing a scar. She wondered if she’d feel it if they kissed, if his lips were as cold as the rest of him.

Before she could test her theory, Bellamy whipped away, flustered. 

He busied himself with the pan, tossing Clarke a crooked smile. “So, uh, spinach?”

***

An overwhelming silence woke Clarke up. It was as if someone pressed the mute button on the world. Everything was muffled. She took a glance out of her window.

It was snowing.

_It was snowing!_

**To: CÖMRÃDË**

**Me:**

_GUYS_

_FUCKIN_

_SNOSENWO_

_WE NEED TO GO PLASY RN_

**EMOri:**

_dont wanna_

_snow time is perfect sleep time_

**Murp:**

_yea_

**Me:**

_Both of u suck_

**EMOri:**

_ask danny phantom_

**Me:**

_His name is bellamy_

_And i will_

_Fuck u_

**EMOri:**

_lov u too_

**Murp:**

_ <3 ;) _

Clarke looked around, trying to find Bellamy. She didn’t see him, which was weird. He normally popped up when she either woke up or slept past twelve in the afternoon.

“Um, Bellamy?” Clarke said to the empty space. Suddenly, the telltale pop sounded behind her.

Bellamy was stood behind her, bits of snow stuck to his t-shirt. There was a grin lighting up his face. The sheer force of it was stunning, almost blinding. Clarke felt her stomach lurch forward unexpectedly, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, obvious joy in his voice.

“Bellamy.”

“It’s snowing.”

“Yes?” Clarke said, the upward lilt of her voice accidentally turning it into a question.

“We have to go do snow stuff.”

Clarke quirked up an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting up into a smile. “Right now?”

Bellamy nodded solemnly, smile still firm on his face. “Right now.”

In a flash, Clarke jumped out of bed, racing to the bathroom to at least wash her face and brush her teeth. She kept her pyjama shirt on and slipped on a hoodie and her coat while exchanging her sleep shorts for some warm fleece pants. It probably wouldn’t be enough but fuck it. The goal was to get out, not stay warm.

She was about to call for Bellamy again when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and saw Bellamy still smiling, looking her up and down. He ran his hands down her arms, lightly squeezing. The close proximity was enough to make Clarke’s breathing stutter.

“This won’t be enough, you’ll be freezing before we even get there,” Bellamy remarked, a furrow in his brow. “Do you have a hat?”

Clarke shook her head, shrugging slightly. “Emori took it.”

The furrow in his brow deepened. Clarke wanted to poke it, just to see what would happen.

“How about a scarf?” Bellamy asked, taking his hands off her arms but not moving away.

“I’ve been meaning to get one–”

“Wait here,” Bellamy interrupted, popping out of existence.

Clarke barely had time to register his disappearance before he was back, a bright orange monstrosity of a scarf in one hand and a panda hat in the other. He moved forward, about to put it on when Clarke stopped him, grabbing the scarf and inspecting it. There was glitter woven through it.

“Do I have to?”

Bellamy answered with an unimpressed stare.

With a heavy sigh, Clarke let go of the scarf, allowing Bellamy to wind it around her neck. It was incredibly soft and breathable, which was a huge plus. It was also huge, almost more like a blanket than a scarf. It completely swallowed her neck and most of her head. Clarke tugged it down a bit so her mouth was free, although each time she opened it she got a mouthful of fabric.

Bellamy nodded to himself as he finished with the scarf, smoothing it down (which honestly did nothing) with his hands. Then, he moved on to the hat. It had long bits of yarn on each side with a pompom tied to the end. There was also a pompom on top to complete the look. Bellamy tugged it down on Clarke’s head, laughing at the indignant sound she made when it covered her eyes. He pushed it up enough so she could see, a smile back on his face.

“Perfect,” he said, soft, and Clarke had a feeling he wasn’t referring to her winter attire.

“I feel like a snowman.”

“You’ll also feel warm,” Bellamy countered, taking Clarke’s hand and ushering her out the door. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clarke said, tugging on Bellamy’s hand and pulling him to a stop, “are you going out in that?”

Bellamy looked down at himself, tugging his shirt away from his body. All he had on was a pair of dark wash jeans and a thin t-shirt. Still, he didn’t seem to find anything wrong with that. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, it’s practically a blizzard out there. You’re not gonna put at least a jacket on?”

Bellamy cocked his head to the side. “I don’t really get cold.”

“Well, it’ll help us avoid questions, at least.”

Bellamy pursed his lips as he mulled it over. Eventually, he nodded. “Hold on.” With that, he left, returning about a second later. Now, he had a navy pea coat on and (Clarke noted with a snort) bright orange gloves to match her scarf.

“Ready to go?” He asked, pushing open the front door.

Clarke opened her mouth to speak but got a mouthful of scarf instead.

***

The snow was coming down in a thick curtain of white, making it almost impossible to see for more than a couple of feet. Bellamy seemed to be navigating fine, though, Clarke’s hand held tightly in his. Now that she thought of it, Clarke had no idea where they were going. She trusted Bellamy, though, moving with him through the deserted streets.

Eventually, they came to a stop. When Clarke looked up, all she could see was a road and a bright red light.

“Does red mean stop or go?” Bellamy asked, tugging Clarke’s hand lightly to get her attention.

“Stop.”

Bellamy nodded, then tilted his head quickly, as if beckoning something. The light changed to green, Bellamy giving a slight hum of approval. He tugged Clarke across the street, and that’s when she realised where they were.

“The park?” Clarke wondered aloud, nudging Bellamy’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I checked it out earlier, there isn’t anyone here.”

With the snow covering everything, the world seemed to be paused for a second. It was serene and quiet, the snow creating a blank canvas out of everything. Clarke heaved a heavy sigh, feeling something in her calm.

Without a warning, there was a muffled _thump_ at the side of her head.

Clarke turned and came face to face with a grinning Bellamy, another snowball ready to go in his hand.

Fuck calm. This was war.

Clarke bent down immediately to grab some snow, getting pelted in the process. As soon as she got a rough handful she ran for the trees, trying to find some sort of cover. She heard Bellamy’s laugh echo as she refined the shape of her snowball.

Quickly, she glanced a look around the tree and saw Bellamy running towards her. She threw her snowball, grinning at the sure hit when he suddenly disappeared.

“Cheat!” She yelled, laughing breathlessly. “Magic isn’t allowed!”

“It’s not magic!” Bellamy retorted, appearing behind her and dumping snow on her head.

Clarke gasped at the sudden cold, shuddering as Bellamy howled with laughter behind her. Before he could disappear again, she turned around and tackled him into a snowbank, her arms wrapped tight around his middle. He fell with a soft _oof,_ his own arms coming around to make sure Clarke was secure. 

They fell deep into the snow, a cocoon of cold surrounding them. Clarke’s head was on Bellamy’s chest, the chill settling into her bones. They were both laughing breathlessly, too caught up to move. Slowly, Clarke peeled herself off of Bellamy, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

“Hey,” Bellamy whispered, a small puff of air accompanying the word.

“Hi,” Clarke murmured back, almost afraid of speaking too loud and destroying this small atmosphere they made. 

His eyes flicked down to her lips and Clarke felt her stomach swoop. 

“Do humans kiss?” Bellamy asked, voice soft and a little bit raspy.

Clarke swallowed, trying to get her voice to work.. “Yeah,” she said, low, “do you?”

Bellamy nodded, leaning up, pushing Clarke into a sitting position with him. Slowly, one hand made its way from her back to her neck underneath her scarf. Bellamy tilted his head, watching Clarke as if he was searching for any signs of discomfort. 

Clarke quickly grew tired of waiting. She threaded her fingers through his hair and brought him close, finally kissing him.

At first, it was chaste and sweet, just a simple press of lips and not nearly enough. Clarke noted that his lips _were_ cold, but she didn’t really mind it. She realised her lips must be cold too, from all the snow. She pressed against him, chasing his mouth with hers. The kisses turned heated, deeper, small slips of tongue and breathless laughter.

Just as they’d found a rhythm, Bellamy broke the kiss, his body lurching forward and covering Clarke’s. Clarke mumbled in confusion but quickly understood when she heard the soft impact of snow hitting Bellamy’s head and back.

Clarke snorted, unable to hold her laughter in. 

“I risk my life to protect you and this is how you repay me?” Bellamy said, the smile in his voice cutting the bite of his words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Clarke laughed, her giggles still peppering her words. She cups his face in her hands, brushing the snow out of his hair and off of his face. Bellamy closes her eyes, leaning into her touch. He was kind of like a cat. That thought made Clarke burst into laughter once again, much to Bellamy’s chagrin.

Bellamy opened his eyes, his gaze turning soft as he looked at Clarke. He kissed her on the cheek, lingering there for a second, before grabbing a handful of snow and smothering her face in it.

“Bellamy! You fucking asshole!” Clarke sputtered, wiping her face frantically. The snow got caught in her scarf, melting against her skin. 

Not one to lose, Clarke stood up, hastily grabbing the nearest branch. She shook it wildly, dropping a torrent of snow onto Bellamy who tried desperately to shield himself. 

Just as Clarke was relishing in her win, Bellamy leapt to his feet, picking her up as he went. He hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ignoring her shrieks and cries. 

“Bellamy!”

“Clarke,” he answered, casual. 

Clarke struggled in his grip a bit more, swaying as he walked. “Put me down!”

The moment the words left her mouth, Clarke knew she fucked up.

“As you wish.”

With that, Bellamy crouched down, dropping her onto the ground. It wasn’t the hard landing she anticipated. Instead, he gently lowered her down, one hand behind her head to make sure it didn’t hit anything. He crawled next to her, moving her head so it rested in his lap. Clarke shifted her limbs so she was lying more like a starfish, spread out and trying to take up as much space as possible.

She started to make a snow angel, snorting at Bellamy’s confused face.

“What are you doing?” He asked, one eyebrow quirked up.

“Making a snow angel.”

Bellamy chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve met angels. They look nothing like that.”

Clarke half-heartedly glared at him. “Not like you could do any–” A sneeze interrupted her retort.

Immediately, Bellamy helped Clarke to her feet. “I forgot you felt the cold. You’ve gotta be freezing, why didn’t you say anything?” Bellamy said, the words coming out rushed. He ran his hands up and down on her arms, trying to generate some heat. 

“I feel fine,” Clarke sniffed.

Bellamy shook his head exasperatedly, tugging her hat farther down on her head and made sure her scarf was still wrapped tight around her. “Let’s go home.”

“I mean, we haven’t even made snowmen–”

“I’ll make you hot cocoa?”

Clarke grinned. “Deal.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @blvke-bellamy :)
> 
> also no. i dont know what bellamy is supposed to be lmao


End file.
